


he is strong as a star from heaven

by tigriswolf



Series: written for school [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Point of View, Courage, Foreshadowing, Gen, Sorting, no seriously all the foreshadowing, random Longbottom backstory, the bloody baron and neville's gran were friends, why Neville Longbottom is awesomer than you, year 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-12
Updated: 2011-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 16:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville hadn't been able to sleep the night before; he tossed and turned and imagined all the ways everything could go wrong, how he could fail, let down Gran and the family again. After all, he wasn't that magical—nothing happened till he was eight!—and what if they decided he wasn't good enough? If he got sent home, he'd just die. He'd never be able to look Gran in the eye again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he is strong as a star from heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Title: he is strong as a star from heaven  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Gilgamesh.  
> Warnings: spoilers for Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone  
> Pairings: none  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 5350  
> Point of view: third  
> Notes: written for my English class  
> More notes: thanks to cindas for reading over this

Neville hadn't been able to sleep the night before; he tossed and turned and imagined all the ways everything could go wrong, how he could fail, let down Gran and the family again. After all, he wasn't that magical—nothing happened till he was eight!—and what if they decided he wasn't good enough? If he got sent home, he'd just die. He'd never be able to look Gran in the eye again.

The whole family came by the house in the week leading up to the first of September, wishing him luck and telling stories about their days at Hogwarts. Everyone in living memory had been Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, and when Great Uncle Algie tracked him down—Neville avoided him whenever possible, because not even Trevor was worth being dropped out a window—he told Neville that he'd better live up to the family name or die trying. Neville thought he was joking.

On August thirty-first, Gran took him to St. Mungo's so that he could explain to Mum and Dad why he wouldn't be able to come to see them every week anymore. Despite what Gran said, Neville knew they understood. That night, Gran also gave him Dad's wand and Neville swore he'd take extra-careful care of it.

And now the time had come to board the train, to leave Gran behind. Neville stared at the bright red engine, reaching into his pocket for Trevor, but he was gone.

"Gran, I've lost my toad again," he said, turning to look up at her.

"Oh, _Neville_ ," she sighed, severe face softening. "Child, I know you don't want to go, but losing that creature won't let you stay."

"I didn't lose Trevor on purpose, Gran," he told her. "He must've just hopped out of my pocket." Neville started looking around the platform, calling, "Trevor!"

"Neville," his grandmother reproved. "The toad'll come or it won't. We need to get you on the train and all settled."

"But Gran," Neville argued as she pushed him toward the train, "he'll be somewhere out _here_."

"Tinkly," Gran called to their house-elf. "Once we've chosen a compartment, move Neville's things there."

She didn't wait for Tinkly's reply, but pushed Neville onto the train and then strode past him. She peered into half a dozen compartments before choosing one that had a single occupant, a girl with curly brown hair reading a large book. On the cover, Neville could only make out _Hogwarts_.

The girl immediately hopped to her feet, casting the book aside, while Gran turned to face Neville. She placed her hands on his shoulders. "Don't worry too much, my boy. You'll learn a lot at Hogwarts." She nodded to him, giving a firm smile, and whirled on her heel, swiftly leaving. She didn't look back once.

Neville looked at the girl; she held out a hand and said, "I'm Hermione Granger; it's my first year at Hogwarts. I can't wait to learn magic! Oh, isn't it so exciting?"

Neville felt sick, but he said, "Yes, very exciting." Then he added, "I'm Neville Longbottom."

Hermione sat back down and Neville threw himself into the seat across from her. "You haven't seen a toad, have you?" he asked. "My Trevor's missing."

"No, sorry," she said, picking up her book. "I'm sure he'll come back, though."

Neville shifted, concerned the train was about to leave, and if Trevor didn't make it, Neville wouldn't see him again until Christmas. "I'm going to search for him," he told Hermione; she didn't raise her head from the book, reminding him a great deal of Gran.

He wandered down the corridor, poking his head into compartments, asking everyone who looked nice and friendly if they'd seen Trevor. Finally, as he started back to his own, Hermione met up with him, already in her Hogwarts' robes.

"No luck, then?" she asked.

He shook his head, sniffling. Trevor was his only friend. Gran was right—he was too forgetful. It'd serve him right if Trevor had a better life with someone else, someone who remembered to keep track of him.

Hermione grabbed his arm. "Well, come on, Neville." She pulled him to a compartment he'd already been to, barged in, and demanded, "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."

Both occupants, two boys, looked up. The redhead said, "We've already told him we haven't seen it." He held his wand like he'd been about to cast a spell.

Hermione noticed, too. "Oh, are you doing magic?" she asked. "Let's see it, then." She sat down.

Neville wanted to leave; magic wasn't as important as finding Trevor, but Hermione wanted to stay. He stood just inside the door, very uncomfortable, as the boy tried his spell:

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,

Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

For the first time, Neville noticed the rat in the boy's lap. Nothing happened, and Neville felt embarrassed for his schoolmate. That incantation sounded like something Great Uncle Algie might give him.

Hermione chattered on about magic and schoolbooks, speaking very quickly, and Neville only paid attention again when the two boys said their names: Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.

He stared at _Harry Potter_ , the Boy Who Lived; he'd heard about Harry, defeater of You-Know-Who, for as long as he could remember.

Hermione was chattering again and Harry Potter looked dazed. Neville sympathized, thinking back to one of Gran's final lectures on expected behavior at Hogwarts.

"Now, you'll meet children there, Neville, that aren't our sort. There'll be those whose families lean towards the Dark, Muggleborns with no idea, and some who have no creed at all. You must treat everybody with respect and the courtesy as is fit of our station, from the Muggleborns to the Malfoy heir. We are a Light family. Do you understand?"

He had nodded, and she went on, "There is a very good chance Harry Potter will finally be brought out of hiding this year. He is your age, after all." Her gaze sharpened. "Treat him like any other boy, Neville. Many will fawn over him, or hate him. Remember, he is _just a boy_." Again, she asked, "Do you understand?"

"But, he defeated You-Know-Who!" Neville said. "He's not just a boy."

Gran straightened in her chair. "He is, Neville. I remember him as an infant, born mere hours after you, to that sweet Evans girl. Treat him with kindness and respect, like you should everyone."

Neville nodded, saying, "Yes, Gran."

He looked at Harry Potter, listening to Hermione with wide eyes, and Neville realized that Gran was right.

"Anyway," Hermione was saying when Neville tuned back in, "we'd better go and look for Neville's toad." She stood and Neville backed up out of her way. "You two had better change, you know," she said to Harry and Ron. "I expect we'll be there soon."

As he followed her out, Hermione told Neville, "That goes for you, as well. I know you're worried about—Trevor, was it?—your toad, but we _must_ be ready for Hogwarts."

She really did remind him of his grandmother. It was sort of frightening.

Hermione waited outside the compartment, while Neville changed. As she came back in, he asked about the book she'd been reading.

Her face lit up. "Oh, it's simply wonderful, Neville! I read it before, after my first trip to Diagon Alley; I needed to catch up on the magical community, you understand. I haven't told you the title yet, have I?" She dug into the trunk beside her seat. " _Hogwarts, A History_. It's so full of knowledge, Neville. Have you read it?"

She handed over the thickest book Neville had actually seen someone holding. "No," he said. "But Gran's library has a copy, I think." He studied the tome. "It's very old, isn't it?"

Hermione giggled a little. "Hogwarts is a thousand years old! You can borrow it, if you want."

He smiled at her. "You keep it. I'll ask Gran to send me ours." He handed her back the book and she put it away.

They passed a while in silence and then Hermione said, "Your toad will turn up, Neville. He's magic, right?"

Neville brightened. "You're right! He'll find me." Then another concern came to him. "What if someone finds him and keeps him?"

Hermione reached over to pat his arm. "Don't think like that, Neville," she encouraged.

They spent another while in silence, Neville looking at the passing countryside, then Hermione said, "I'd better go and check on those two." She stood, adding, "I'll be back in half a minute." He watched her go in bemusement. Maybe he would have a friend this year.

 _But_ , he realised, _what if we're put in different Houses?_ Could Houses mingle? He should have asked Gran. She had been a Ravenclaw, which Hermione would surely be. Neville would be lucky to be a Hufflepuff. If they let him stay.

Hermione returned muttering about foolish boys seeking out trouble before school even started. Neville decided not to ask.

"We're nearly there," she told him. "I asked the conductor." She grinned, practically bouncing. "Oh, I'm so excited, Neville! I had thought magic to be a fairy tale, but it's _real_."

"My whole family is magic," Neville said. "back for centuries. That's why it'd be so disappointing if I'd been a squib."

Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure I quite understand relations between nonmagical people and magical people. Nonmagical parents can have magical children and magical parents can have nonmagical children?"

Neville nodded. "According to Gran, no one knows why. They're conducting studies at St. Mungo's."

Hermione opened her mouth, but a voice cut her off, saying they'd arrived. Neville's stomach plummeted.

"I can't do this," he mumbled. "I'll just stay on the train and go back to London."

"Neville Longbottom," Hermione said primly, tugging at his arm. "Up, up. What would your grandmother say?"

The thought of Gran's disapproving expression—Neville _hated_ that look, it always made him feel about two inches tall and two years old—got Neville to his feet and Hermione's gentle tug on his sleeve got him into the corridor. He followed her through the crowd, onto a chilly and dark platform.

A loud voice boomed, "Firs' years over here!" and Hermione led the way. Harry and Ron were just in front of them, and Neville almost tumbled down the path. He thought of Trevor—if he'd made it onto the train, would he know to get off here?

The giant leading them said something about Hogwarts; it was impressive, Neville decided, looking at the castle. But Gran's manor was better. A fleet of small boats waited at the bottom of the path, and Neville kept following Hermione, who got into the one after Harry and Ron. None of them spoke; Neville looked out over the lake, thinking of home, as the boat started moving by itself. Gran would be just now sitting down to supper. Would she be lonely without Neville, or relieved he wouldn't be there to ask questions anymore? She'd never acted annoyed with him, but what if she really had been? And now that he had somewhere else to go, what if she didn't want him anymore?  
Hermione placed a hand on his arm and he realised his chest was heaving. He took a deep breath as the boat docked in a kind of underground harbor. Neville realized that he couldn't remember what any of the scenery they'd just passed had looked like—what if there was test? He couldn't fail the very first exam!

The giant called, "Oy, you there? Is this your toad?"

Neville lunged forward, shouting, "Trevor!" He gently took his toad from a huge hand and cradled him close to his chest. Trevor ribbited softly. Hermione patted Neville's shoulder; she whispered, "I told you he'd find his way back."

He grinned at her, lightly stroking Trevor's spine. A weight melted from his shoulders—with Trevor safe in his grip, suddenly Hogwarts didn't seem so scary. He was so caught up in becoming reacquainted with Trevor that he didn't notice the frightening, no-nonsense witch addressing them until Hermione nudged him to follow the crowd. The first years stopped in a small room and the witch told them about something called the Sorting. She explained the four Houses, for the Muggle-borns—Neville knew all about them, of course, from Gran and the rest of the family. He knew he wouldn't be a Slytherin or Gryffindor or Ravenclaw—not mean or brave or smart enough. His family had all been Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, except for a handful of Slytherins somewhere along the way, but Neville was sure he'd be Hufflepuff.

The witch—and he really should learn her name, she must be dreadfully important—left them. Most of the first years started mumbling about the Sorting, what the ceremony might entail. Hermione started muttering spells. Neville closed his eyes; he was just about out of terror and wonder for the day.

His eyes flew open when students behind him screamed. He whirled around, but saw nothing frightening—just a few ghosts. Must've been Muggle-borns who'd been scared, then. The ghosts were arguing about someone named Peeves. The nicest-looking ghost, a jolly monk, smiled down at them. He reminded Neville of Gran's great-great-grandfather's portrait. Neville had always enjoyed visiting him.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff," the ghost said. "My old House, you know."

Maybe Hufflepuff wouldn't be so bad.

The severe witch came back, shooing the ghosts. She told the students to form a line and follow her. She led them into a large room with five long tables. It looked a lot like the formal dining room he and Gran only ever ate in during parties or when the whole family was there.

Neville glanced over when Hermione whispered, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside." He followed her gaze to the ceiling. "I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_."

Yes, Neville would ask Gran to send him that book. He should have read it before, when he first received the letter. He was surprised Gran didn't make him read it.

The old witch—"Professor McGonagall," Hermione muttered when he asked—placed a small stool on the floor and then put a raggedy hat on it. Neville stared; Gran would burn that hat, soon as touch it. As he watched, a mouth opened in the old cloth and the hat started to sing.

Neville listened closely as it described the four Houses—brave Gryffindor, hard-working Hufflepuff, wise Ravenclaw, and cunning Slytherin. None of them sounded like him.

"When I call your name," Professor McGonagall said, "you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted." She looked down at the parchment in her hands. "Abbot, Hannah."

Neville could not imagine going first. He thought the girl very brave.

The closer _L_ came, the queasier Neville's stomach got, but he cheered when Hermione was placed in Gryffindor.

And finally, Professor McGonagall called out, "Longbottom, Neville." As he walked to the stool, he thought he might be sick, and he closed his eyes as the hat sank onto his head.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, young Longbottom," a small voice said. "Do you have anything to say about where I'll sort you?"

Neville's mind raced. "Not Slytherin?" he mumbled.

The hat chuckled. "Oh, no, not Slytherin for you. Those serpents would eat you alive. Let's see…"

Neville waited, slowly calming as the hat murmured to itself. "You're loyal and kind. Determined to do the right thing, to live up to your parents, to honour your heritage. Hmm… you might do well in Ravenclaw, if you really applied yourself, but I doubt you'd be happy there." Neville licked his lips, wondering why the hat seemed to be taking so long. "Patience, boy!" the hat reproved gently. "This is important. Your House is your home away from home. They'll become your family, if you let them."

Neville apologized softly and the hat chuckled again. "Not a problem. Now, this is interesting! You're more than you know, young Neville. You have power and strength, if only you find the courage to unlock it. You'd do well in Hufflepuff, but I believe that you'll shine in GRYFFINDOR."

The hat shouted the House name and Neville's mouth dropped open. In shock, he leapt to his feet, rushing to the table under the red banner. He realised the hat was still on his head only when it chortled.

"I wish you luck, Neville Longbottom," the hat said as he sheepishly carried it back to the front of the Hall.

"Thank you," he told it, then handed it to the next student, a girl with shining dark hair.

He sat across from Hermione, who gave him a large smile. "This is wonderful, Neville!" she said. "Oh, I'm so excited!"

The sorting continued and Neville cheered the next Gryffindor, and then "Potter, Harry," was called.

The Great Hall went completely silent before whispering broke out. The hat took its time and at last "GRYFFINDOR" rang out. Their table erupted in cheers.

The sorting was winding down now. Neville's stomach rumbled and Hermione grinned. Finally the last student was sorted as Ron collapsed next to Harry. Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet and welcomed the students.

Neville remembered him from a few of Gran's dinner parties. Before taking him to King's Cross, she'd said, "Albus Dumbledore is a wise, powerful man. He'll play the mad wizard, but remember that, no matter how it appears, he's not insane." Gran'd looked sad for a moment. "Also, he's always years ahead of everyone else."

As Professor Dumbledore sat down, the plates filled with food. Neville chose steak, peas, and fries. It tasted just like Tinkly's at home. He drank a glass of grape juice to wash it down, only half-listening to Harry's discussion with the Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas.

When the dinner plates were replaced with desserts, Neville only took a small chocolate éclair. The students around him, all first years, began talking about their families and Neville answered Ron with how Great Uncle Algie had tried to force magic out him. He kept the bitterness from his voice with difficulty.

Hermione and one of Ron's brothers—he had five!—were discussing classes. Transfiguration sounded interesting, but Neville doubted he'd do very well, no matter what the sorting hat said. It seemed to be as old as Hogwarts; what if it'd become senile and made a mistake?

For just a moment, he heard Gran in his mind. _Don't talk down to yourself, Neville_ , she'd say. _You'll only make a self-fulfilling prophecy_.

As Neville ruminated, Professor Dumbledore stood again, to deliver the start of term notices. The forest was forbidden to all students—that would be no hardship for Neville. He did not like wild woods, much preferring tame gardens. Second, Professor Dumbledore informed them, no magic was to be used between classes in the corridors. Another that shouldn't be hard for Neville, since he probably wouldn't be able to do magic _in_ the classroom, much less out. Third was information about Quidditch trials. Neville had never been interested in the sport.

"And finally," the headmaster said gravely, "I must tell you that this year the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is strictly out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Very few students laughed, Harry among them. But Neville took the warning to heart—threats of death were nothing to scoff at.

Almost as if to change the depressing mood, Professor Dumbledore announced gleefully that they'd sing the school song. Neville only mumbled the words, while others actually sang at the tops of their voices. A pair of redheaded twins, more of Ron's brothers, Neville guessed, took the longest to finish. After the song, the professor dismissed them and one of Ron's brothers, the same one Hermione had been talking with, said, "First years, follow me."

Neville fell in with Hermione, once again behind Ron and Harry. The way was confusing, moreso even than the manor, which after nine years, Neville still didn't fully know his way around.

He was very, very tired, about to fall asleep walking, when Ron's brother stopped. "Peeves," he whispered. "A poltergeist." Neville looked past him to a bundle of walking-sticks floating in midair. Ron's brother raised his voice, saying, "Peeves, show yourself."

Neville had met a poltergeist before, in of Great-Grandfather's lofts—Gran had banished it with ease.

Ron's brother said, "Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this. I mean it!" The poltergeist, a small man with large eyes and a cruel mouth, dropped the sticks on Neville's head and vanished.

Hermione said, "That creature is a menace!" She turned to Neville, asking, "Are you alright?"

He nodded, lightly patting the top of his head. "I'll be fine, Hermione." She gripped his chin, tilting his head down to examine the injury for herself. After a moment, she let him go and whirled to face Ron's brother.

"Percy! How can the professors allow him to stay?" She crossed her arms, raising a brow. "Well?"

Ron's brother, Percy, said, "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has his reasons." He assessed Neville, then told the first years, "You want to watch out for Peeves." He continued walking, saying, " The Bloody Baron is the only one who can control him; he won't even listen to us prefects."

Having the sticks dropped on his head didn't help Neville's exhaustion in the slightest. He was relieved when Percy stopped not much further, in front of a portrait of a large woman in a pink dress.

"Password?" the lady asked.

"Caput Draconis," Percy answered, and the painting swung forward. One by one, everyone clambered in; Neville's natural clumsiness, his exhaustion, and the ringing in his ears from Peeves' attack combined to make it almost impossible to get in. One of the other first years, a tall black boy whose name Neville didn't know, helped him.

Once inside the common room, Neville wanted to sink into one of the comfortable-looking armchairs: they were large, fluffy, and deep red, and looked more inviting than even his bed at home.

"Girls through there," Percy said, pointing. "Boys through the other."

Hermione patted his shoulder, saying, "Off you go, Neville. Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

He nodded, yawning, and followed his year-mates up. He didn't notice much in the dorm except _bed_ and _red_ —more red than he'd ever seen in his life—and located his trunk with blurry eyes. He pulled a sleeping Trevor from his pocket, placing him on the bedside table, and then slipped out of his robes, replacing them with his pyjamas.

Neville's first dream at Hogwarts involved Gran, Peeves, and Professor Dumbledore, all members of a band. He woke up giggling halfway through the night, then rolled over and went back to sleep, this time without a single dream he could remember.

In the morning, he walked to the Great Hall with Hermione, not getting lost at all. Other students complained about the moving staircases and doors that led nowhere, but Neville figured Hermione was too no-nonsense, even for Hogwarts. Thankfully, he had all his classes with her, too.

Neville's favorite was, by far, Herbology, taught by his favorite teacher, Professor Sprout. Professor Sprout was cheerful and funny, and always willing to answer any question at all. In Herbology, there were clear-cut rules and things that made sense, and plants were just _fascinating_ , with all their little parts and pieces, and they were just plain _useful_. Much better than history or maths, or anything else, as far as Neville could see.

History of Magic, taught by a ghost who resembled Gran's old Uncle Elbert, was the most boring hours Neville had spent in his life. It was worse than Gran's lessons on deportment. He tried taking notes while listening, he tried listening and nothing else, and he tried sleeping—nothing worked, and it was still so boring he just wanted to cry.

Charms, taught by a man about Tinkly's size, was interesting. Professor Flitwick was excitable and willing to praise anyone who did anything remotely right. Neville knew all sorts of charms from Aunt Mildred, so he figured he might do alright.

Professor McGonagall, from the sorting, taught Transfiguration. In the very first lesson, she turned her desk to a pig and back again. She gave a lot of notes and then passed out matches, ordering the students to try and turn theirs into a needle. Neville reread his notes and followed her instructions exactly, but nothing happened. Hermione, sitting next to him, managed to make hers silver and pointy. Neville resolved to go over her notes and try to see what she'd done differently.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, taught by a squirrelly man, had been a class he looked forward to. Uncle Xander used to tell him stories about DADA, about how interesting and useful the class was, but Professor Quirrell clearly had no idea what he was talking about. He seemed afraid of his own shadow, and the classroom smelled so strongly of garlic that Neville's eyes watered.

But the absolutely worst of all was Professor Snape. He taught Potions, which Neville had thought might be sort of fun. He used to enjoy making concoctions with his cousin William and calling them potions or brews. Nothing very good, of course, but Herbology sort of went along with Potions, and Neville thought it'd be a good thing to know. Plus, Gran had been good at Potions when she attended Hogwarts, and he thought it might make her proud.

Professor Snape changed all that. Neville copied down every word he said, listened so intently he thought his ears might fall off, and when Snape demanded of Harry, "Where would you look if I told you find me a bezoar?" Neville thought, _I actually know that one._ It was something Gran had tutored him on, Potions having been one of her favorite classes as a girl.

Snape continued tormenting Harry, with, "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Neville thought, _I know that one, too. They're the same thing. Also called aconite, I think._

Harry quietly said, "I don't know. I think Hermione does, though; why don't you try her?"

Snape glared even harder and Neville didn't know why he seemed to hate the Gryffindors so much. All throughout the lesson, he hounded them. He paired them up, placing Neville with Seamus Finnegan. Neville copied down the instructions on the board meticulously; it was a simple potion, to cure boils. Something Gran could do in her sleep. Back home, it'd be an easy matter for Neville to follow the directions.

But under Snape's cold, black eyes, Neville faltered. Snape was worse than Great Uncle Hardwick, who used to mock him for not having magic, and not almost kindly the way Great Uncle Algie did. Gran actually lectured Hardwick once, in a soft voice that left him crying. Neville adored her even more that.

Snape watched them all, with an assessing gaze that left Neville knowing he could never measure up to whatever standards the professor held.

Neville's hand, holding a cup of porcupine quills, slipped and they went splashing into the cauldron. Immediately, the solution hissed loudly, and Neville backed up, shoving Seamus out of the line of fire. Unfortunately, Neville didn't move quickly enough and when the cauldron melted, some of it got all over him.

"Idiot boy!" Snape yelled at him. Neville tried not to whimper, but his skin _burned_ where boils were popping up and he failed. Snape demanded, "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire."

Neville wanted to say, _Duh. Sir._ But he was too embarrassed and in too much pain, and he didn't think he'd ever have the courage.

Snape dismissed him with a curt, "Take him up to the hospital wing," to Seamus. Seamus grabbed his sleeve, pulling him to the door before Snape could change his mind.

Once out in the hall, Seamus said, "Thank you." Neville shrugged. "Do you know how to get to the infirmary?" Seamus asked. "I haven't been there yet."

Neville shook his head, trying to keep in the tears as more and more boils popped up.

"Well, no matter," Seamus said. "We'll find our way—it'll be an adventure, right, Neville?"

He nodded. An adventure. What fun.

The whole way out of the dungeons, Seamus chattered on about how the Muggle world differed from the magical, about his father trying to come to terms, and how Quidditch was far more entertaining than either football or rugby ("Really, Neville, they can _fly_!")

Neville focused on the words to take his mind off the pain and embarrassment—honestly, the very first potion lesson ever? That—that _debacle_ was what he had to write home to Gran about? She had been wonderful in potions! He could barely do magic and now he couldn't do potions? Why was he even _at_ Hogwarts?

"Oy, you there!" Seamus suddenly called. "Wait up, please!"

They'd made it out of the dungeons and now had to choose a right or left corridor. Neville looked past Seamus, down the left corridor. A ghost floated there, slowly turning around.

"Bloody hell," Seamus muttered.

It was the Bloody Baron, Slytherin's ghost. He stared at them before coming closer.

"Do you…" Seamus swallowed. "Do you know the way to the hospital wing?"

"I do." The Baron's voice was deep and cold, and Neville shuddered.

"Could you tell us, please?" Seamus asked, voice shaky.

The Baron came even closer. "What happened to your schoolmate?" He leaned down, peering at Neville.

Neville blinked. Up close, the Baron wasn't so bad. "Potions accident," he murmured through swollen, hurting lips.

The ghost straightened. "Your eyes are familiar. What is your name?"

"Neville Longbottom," he said.

"Hmm…" The ghost studied him. "That name means nothing to me."

Seamus and Neville shared a glance. "Please, sir," Seamus tried again. "We really need to get Neville checked out."

"Take this corridor to its end," the Baron said. "Do not stray and you will find the Healer's domain."

"Thank you, sir," Seamus said, and they eased around him. Neville felt the ghost's eyes on him until they turned the bend.

After that, they didn't speak much. Neville focused on not crying or falling down and Seamus focused on keeping Neville upright and moving. Neville wanted to apologise for being such a bother, but Seamus wasn't acting like it was a hardship, so he kept quiet.

They finally came to the hospital wing and the mediwitch bustled Neville into a bed. "Thank you, dear," she told Seamus. "You can go on back to class."

Seamus smiled at Neville. "Thanks, again," he said. "See you later."

He left before Neville could thank him or apologise, Neville hadn't yet made up his mind.

"It'll just take a simple potion to clear you right up—oh, what did you say your name was, dear?" The mediwitch spoke without turning, digging in a large cabinet.

"Neville Longbottom, Miss." The hospital bed wasn't as comfortable as the one in the dorm, but he was tired. It felt wonderful to lie down; thankfully, the boils were only on his front, his face and neck and arms.

"Well, Neville, I'm Madame Pomfrey." She walked over and handed him a small bottle. "Drain this. The boils will take about half an hour to clear up and then you can head on down for dinner."

"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey," he said.

She smiled at him. "Let's not make a habit of coming here, yes? Hogwarts has more to it than a hospital bed."

He smiled shyly up at her. "I'll do my best, honest, Miss."

She laughed. "They tell me that every year." She patted his hand. "Drink your potion, dear."

Madam Pomfrey went back to the cabinet and Neville swallowed the potion in one gulp, determined to do better. It was only the third day of school, after all, and he needed to make Gran proud.


End file.
